


The Notebook

by flawedamythyst



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2015-10-16
Packaged: 2018-04-26 17:03:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5012773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawedamythyst/pseuds/flawedamythyst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompts of bee, buzz and bubbles.</p><p>John discovers a notebook amongst Sherlock's things that gives him new insights. Pre-slash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Notebook

**Author's Note:**

  * For [1electricpirate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/1electricpirate/gifts), [EmmyAngua](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmmyAngua/gifts).



John had passed through the stage of being annoyed by Sherlock's system of organising his belongings and moved into bemusement months ago. It wasn't as if Sherlock was inherently untidy, it was just that his idea of tidy didn't look like anyone else's.

The notebook was underneath a stack of paperwork that related to at least five different cases spread over a three year period, all held down by a spanner that John had a horrible feeling had been a murder weapon at some time. He'd been sorting through it all, trying to work out where Sherlock had 'filed' their council tax bill, when he came across it.

It didn't take a detective of Sherlock's calibre to see that it was very old. The corners were all soft and tattered, the edges of the paper had gone slightly yellow and the elastic band holding it together had gone a bit weird and sticky.

On the cover, in a careful child's hand that didn't quite manage a straight line, it read:

_Sherlock Holmes's Private Things_

Underneath, in a different pen and a more rushed script, was:

_Piss off, Mycroft_

John tried very hard to tell himself that he wasn't going to look. It was a private childhood memento that Sherlock wouldn't want him seeing. He should just ignore it and carry on looking for the bill.

Yeah, not a chance. Besides, it wasn't as if Sherlock would have ever stopped himself from snooping through every private thing that John owned.

He pulled off the elastic band, not sure what he was expecting. When he'd been a kid he'd just written down the names of rugby players and doodled cartoons of himself as James Bond. He remembered Mycroft's words about Sherlock wanting to be a pirate and hoped for a picture of him as Captain Blackbeard.

What he got was nothing like that. Instead, the whole notebook was filled with closely-written notes on bees and bee-keeping. There was page after page on the correct way to harvest honey, diagrams of various types of hives and notes on the behaviour of queens.

John couldn't remember the subject of bees ever coming up, let alone Sherlock showing an interest in bee-keeping. Was this an obsession that he'd had briefly as a child and then abandoned? But then, why would he have kept the notebook if he'd lost interest?

There was a noise from the hallway and John quickly shut the book, replaced the elastic band, shoved it back under the pile of paper and turned away to keep looking for the bill.

Sherlock came in a moment later. He gave John a faint frown that made John feel as if everything he'd been doing was written on his forehead.

“Where did you put the council tax bill?” he asked to distract Sherlock.

Sherlock blinked. “Council tax?” he repeated, as if it was the first he'd heard of such a concept.

John sighed. “How on earth did you get anything done without me?” he muttered.

“I have no idea,” said Sherlock blithely, wandering off towards his room.

****

John largely forgot about the notebook until a few weeks later, when they were lying on their stomachs in a meadow, half-hidden by long grass and waiting for a pair of criminals to show up and start digging up something that Sherlock hadn't deigned to tell John about. The sun was shining down on them, a gentle breeze rustled a stand of near-by trees and insects buzzed near-by.

John glanced at Sherlock and saw that his eyes were fixed on something a lot closer than the gate the criminals were meant to be coming through. He followed his gaze to a bee that was hovering over a flower, buzzing in to land for a moment and then taking off again to continue hovering.

His mind shot back to the first page of the notebook. “ _Apis mellifera_ ,” he remarked.

Sherlock's head swung round and he stared at John. “Why do you know that?”

John shrugged as casually as he could. Time to fish for information. “Bees are interesting.”

“Interesting?” repeated Sherlock in scathing tones. “They are far more than that. They are _fascinating_. Shortly before emerging from their cells, young queens make piping noises to evaluate their space and calm worker bees. They sing to make their minions feel better. _Absolutely fascinating_.”

The level of passion in his voice was far more than John had been expecting. Apparently his childhood obsession with bees hadn't diminished in strength at all.

“And they dance to communicate,” added Sherlock. John braced himself for a full lecture on the subject, but at that moment the criminals arrived in through the gate and they both ducked closer to the ground in an effort to stay hidden.

****

The criminals were apprehended, John discovered that what they'd buried had been a picnic hamper full of silver cutlery, and he and Sherlock ended up back home with a cup of tea. Sherlock spent nearly twenty minutes explaining exactly why the criminals had a picnic hamper of silver cutlery and what they were intending to achieve by burying it, while John nodded along and thought about how the spark of passion in Sherlock's eyes was the same now as it had been when he was talking about bees.

Two days later, he was wandering around a bookshop on his lunch break when he saw a notebook decorated with a beehive.

Sherlock did get through a lot of notebooks. John felt his fingers twitch and gave in to the impulse. Fuck it, sometimes friends bought each other random presents, right?

He ignored the voice saying that he wouldn't have bought a present like this for any other friends and that it had far more to do with his other feelings for Sherlock than his friendly ones, and bought the notebook.

The look on Sherlock's face when he gave it to him was more than worth it. John casually tossed it into his lap as he headed for the kitchen for his post-work cup of tea.

“Thought you might want this. Tea?”

Sherlock stared at the notebook for a long time, ignoring John's question. Eventually, he picked it up and flipped it open, staring a the tiny bee that was drawn in the corner of every page.

“I usually buy Moleskines,” he said, sounding a bit distant.

“That's because you're a pretentious wanker,” said John, giving up on a response and going into the kitchen to put the kettle on. If he made Sherlock a cup, he'd probably drink it.

When he came back with the mugs, Sherlock was still flicking through the notebook. “I can't use this for crime notes,” he announced.

John suppressed a sigh. “Because it wasn't massively overpriced?”

Sherlock frowned at him. “Moleskine's aren't over-priced. You're paying for quality,” he said. “But no, that's not why. This is an apiology notebook. I can't use it for criminology.”

“Right,” said John, with an internal sigh. So much for getting Sherlock a small present. “Well, if you don't want it, I can use-”

“No,” snapped Sherlock. “I will use it, just not for criminology.” He looked back down at the notebook and stroked a finger over the cover. “I'll keep it for our retirement.”

John blinked. “Our what?”

“Our retirement,” repeated Sherlock. “Keep up, John. You can't think we'll be chasing criminals until we die, do you? We'll need to retire at some point, probably in our late fifties, and I have apiology scheduled to keep me entertained after that.”

“Scheduled?” repeated John, suddenly feeling as if he'd wandered through a wormhole into another dimension.

“Of course,” said Sherlock. “I certainly don't want to be bored. I've been planning this since I was a child, when I first realised that pursuing two lines of study at the same time was impractical. It made much more sense to dedicate my first few decades to criminology and the ones after that to apiology. Obviously, I've amended the plan since to allow for your presence, but it's still essentially unchanged.”

John found himself sitting down, clutching at his tea. Retirement had only occasionally crossed his mind as a vague worry that he should be topping up his pension. Finding out that Sherlock had a plan for it, and one that included John, was a bit of a shock.

Sherlock let out a sigh. “Honestly, John. You seem to think you exist in a bubble that doesn't include any kind of future. You didn't once plan for what you'd do after you left the Army and you haven't planned for life after 221B. It's a good thing I take the long view, or you might end up in a horrible bedsit again.”

That rang a little close to the bone. “And it's a good thing I remember things like the council tax, or your retirement would end with your home being repossessed,” he returned.

Sherlock merely acknowledged that with a tip of his head. “We've always worked well together. I dare say we always will.”

John smiled at him, unable to hold in a surge of happiness at the idea that Sherlock had a plan for them to spend the rest of their lives together. If buying a notebook wasn't something you for just a friend, then planning that kind of future definitely wasn't. Maybe John wasn't the only one with feelings that crossed the line.

Sherlock tapped his fingers on the cover of the notebook. “I'll put this away somewhere until we've moved into the cottage and I'm ready to take delivery of my first hive.”

Apparently, they were going to be living in a cottage. John sipped at his tea. That sounded nice.


End file.
